Somewhere Over The Rainbow
by CrookshanksTheCat
Summary: After George's death, Fred is broken. Hermione is there to pick up the pieces. George died; not Fred. Post-Hogwarts. Sad. Fremione... Spent forever writing this. Hope you like it!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**

 **I replaced this chapter because for some reason, the italics in the last one didn't work. So its the same chapter, just with proper punctuation and italics.**

Fred waited for the next act. He picked his words very carefully. Everything in here felt like a circus act. There to entertain. There to fill up time. To sell out shows. It wasn't _authentic_. He sat through each and every act, staring ahead blankly, listening to the words but not taking them in. He only did it because of the silence. The silence was unbearable. There was nothing there to be entertained by. To have his mind on. So all he could think about was George's death. Of course, each part of the funeral was focussed on George's death. But, as I previously said, Fred didn't take it in. It wasn't real. But the silence made it seem real. _Too_ real.

Hermione stepped up to the stage. She looked a bit nervous. Sad. Hermione, Fred and George had been thick as thieves at some points. It was an unspoken truth. Nobody really knew. But they did.

When it was Fred and George's turn to do the washing-up, Hermione sheepishly came to join them while everybody else was outdoors. They had ended up singing songs into wet forks and sliding around the kitchen, their smiling faces covered in soapy suds.

When Hermione went out to do some weekly food shopping, looking fed up after an argument with Ron, Fred and George had followed her to the shops and snuck up behind her, yelling "Boo!" and making her jump. They had joked all afternoon in the shop and went browsing big posh shops trying on hats and wigs and putting on silly voices impersonating snooty people.

When the Weasleys (plus Hermione and Harry) had gone for a day at the beach and Hermione had looked a bit out of place sitting stiffly on the sand while everyone else swam, the twins had gone over and built a magnificent sandcastle with her, moat and all, using a stick and seaweed for a flag. They eventually managed to get her into the water and discovered that she was a rather good swimmer.

But even though she was good friends with George, what right did she have to speak at his funeral? She barely knew him compared to Fred.

Fred shook these thoughts out of his mind. She had helped him a lot after the war ended and plans for George's funeral had to be made. Why was he being so mean about her?

During the plans for George's funeral, Fred was torn. He _had_ to be the one to make the big decisions; he knew that. He also knew that he didn't trust anybody else to plan the funeral. They'd all make it too solemn. But Fred could hardly bear to look at seating plans. Most days, he could barely get out of bed. He didn't do much. He was completely and utterly destroyed. He still was, but less. So when the funeral was a week away and he had done practically nothing, Hermione had saved the day.

She had crept into Fred's room one evening, silently closing the door behind her. Fred didn't even sigh. Everyone had tried to get him up. Nothing had worked.

"Fred?" Hermione had whispered. No answer. "I.. I know that you don't want to speak to me. Or anyone. You probably just want to talk to George right now." She sighed. Fred didn't say anything, but he was surprised by her blantentness. Everyone else had tried to coax him out by bribing him with quidditch and Molly's cooking, talking about WWW, and trying to make him… well, happy again… when to be happy again felt like betraying George. Hermione's down-to-Earth attitude sort of shocked him into listening to her more.

"It… it must be _so_ incredibly difficult. I can't believe that George is gone." Fred winced. Saying it aloud made it seem too real. "But Fred… I really don't think that George would want this. And I know, I know, I didn't know him well. How should I know what he'd want?" It was as if she was voicing his feelings. "But I knew him well enough to see that he was a kindhearted and amazing person, quite frankly. Like you. I just have a feeling that he would never want you to be sad because of him. I feel that he wouldn't want to be a burden to you," she continued shyly. "Fred… George wouldn't want this."

"George is DEAD, Hermione! He doesn't _want_ anything! He's _DEAD!_ "

Hermione was taken aback. So was Fred, truthfully. So many people had tried to bring him back with this _stupid_ reasoning. _Stupid_.

Stupid

Stupid

Stupid

Stupid

Stupid

Stupid.

He kept _telling_ himself that, _over_ and over. It wasn't true, obviously. But he just wanted to _believe_ it. It was easier to be sad than to be happy. Being angry at the world, blaming it on everyone else was so much easier than listening and acknowledging that they were correct. Being happy was _tiring_. _Hard._ He felt like he was _betraying_ George by getting over his death. It was too difficult to get back into happy. Sadness was comforting. It was easy. Falling back into it after a brief moment of happiness felt like getting back into bed after a long and difficult day. Getting out of it felt like tiredly getting out of bed after a night with barely any sleep with a ball and chain attached to both your feet. Difficult. Extremely, horribly difficult - Fred couldn't ever see himself doing it. Hermione and his family were trying to pull him out of that. That's why he _couldn't do it._

 _Hermione didn't know that._

So she continued.

"He loved you. You loved him. You still do, I mean… _he's_ gone, but all the memories of him are still there. All the time he had with you."

"I never got to tell him that," Fred spoke. His voice was rusty from not using it, but he sounded serious. Solemn. There wasn't emotion in his voice. "That I loved him." Fred almost said it matter-of-factly. "That's what's hurting me the most, you know."

Hermione bit her lip for a moment before replying.

"He knew it, Fred. You do know that, don't you? He knew that you loved him. He loved you right back."

Those words gave Fred so much comfort. So much help that Hermione would never know about. Like saying 'George is dead' aloud, saying 'he knew how much you cared for him' also made it seem real. _That's_ what Fred needed.

"But Fred?"

"Yeah?"

"I think he wants fireworks at his funeral."  
Hermione said it so softly, as if she was talking to an idiot, that Fred chuckled. It felt good to laugh. A bit like he was betraying his brother. But mostly good.

"I think so too." He smiled up at Hermione, looking into her eyes. She smiled back.

But now he was at the funeral. He had asked Hermione to do something, and, weirdly, she had explicitly said, "I can't. There's nothing I'm good at." This was so obviously untrue that Fred had laughed again. Laughing felt good. Nobody could help smiling when Fred laughed - not only because it was so lovely and happy, but because he rarely laughed recently and it was so good to see him happy. The entire Weasley family was astonished to see Fred and Hermione walking down the stairs together 10 minutes after Hermione had gone up to try and speak to Fred. No-one was expecting it to work - Hermione of all people. But, Lo and behold - it did. "What? Hermione, you're good at everything. Except for maybe Quidditch." Hermione had blushed tomato red. She hadn't tried to hide it, though. Fred liked that.

"Just write a nice speech. One that George," - Fred winced - "would enjoy." To his surprise, Hermione had shaken her head.

"It wouldn't have enough humour. I'm not funny. And anyway, _everyone's_ going to be speaking. Get someone else to do something entertaining."

Fred was just about to object to this statement when Harry had interrupted.

"Sing, Hermione!"

"What?"

"Sing!"

Fred was confused. Hermione? A singer? Even though just 2 minutes ago he had insisted that she was good at everything, he couldn't imagine Hermione prancing about a stage, dancing and warbling along. Fred took a sip of water, trying to work it out in his head.

"I-Harry, I don't sing!"

"Oh yes, you do!" Harry insisted. "I've heard you! So has Ron! You have the voice of an _angel_!"

Harry had said this so enthusiastically that Fred had nearly spat out his water. He looked up, laughing.

"That's going pretty far, Harry!"

"Yes, it is," said Hermione crossly "I'm not singing."

But Hermione often found it hard to say no to Harry, for all her stubbornness.

So, here she was, Hermione Granger, dressed in a rich, dark purple dress, with violet robes, up on a stage with her voice amplified with a simple spell, nervously looking out at the sea of people. If Fred was his normal self, he'd have noticed how wildly attractive she looked. How much effort she'd put in. But he wasn't his normal self.

"Um, so…" she began nervously. "I am going to be singing a song from an old muggle movie that I once watched with Fred and George…"

Fred didn't look up, or start, or smile at the mention of his name. He'd heard it a lot this evening.

"George especially seemed quite taken with the film. At first, he thought it old and boring. Further into it, he began to like it. It made him smile. He marvelled at the colours. He laughed at the bad jokes. He gasped dramatically at the plot twists. The movie was called 'The Wizard of Oz'. there were a few songs in it. I'm going to sing one now. It was probably by no means his very favourite… but I think he liked the lyrics."

Hermione, with a swish of her wand, began the tinkling music. She began to sing.

" _Somewhere_

 _Over the rainbow_

 _Way up high"_

Fred looked up properly for once. He listened. He took in. He was astounded - really surprised at what he was hearing. Her voice. It was completely and utterly beautiful. It seemed to ring out like the most mesmerizing bells.

" _There's a land I have heard of_

 _Once in a lullaby"_

Fred was utterly transfixed by Hermione's beautiful voice. George would have loved this. For all his joking and messing around, George was a big softie. When the twins and Hermione watched this together (for they had, many times, sprawled out on the sofa comfortably together while everyone else was out of the house) this scene would almost always make George cry like a baby. He'd silently sniff. He really thought that this song was beautiful. It was a side of George that Hermione had certainly never seen before. It was a bit new to Fred, as well, if he was honest.

" _Somewhere over the rainbow_

 _Skies are blue_

 _And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true"_

If Fred hadn't been so riveted, he might have looked around and seen everybody's else's reaction. Harry was staring straight at Hermione, biting his lip and not moving his eyes for fear of crying. Ron was going very red in the face and looking like a sad little boy again, and try as he might, he couldn't stop two fat tears from falling down. Molly was sobbing openly for what seemed the hundredth time during the funeral, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief and clutching Arthur like she could never bear to let go. Arthur was very red in the face and trembly - the couple was a perfect picture of sorrow. Ginny was sobbing quietly into her hands, her knees tucked up to her stomach, looking small. Bill was gripping Fleur's hand tightly. Charlie was looking up at Hermione with a sad and reminiscent expression.

It was a shame.

George would never have wanted all this sorrow.

" _Someday I'll wish upon a star_

 _And wake where the clouds are far_

 _Behind me_

 _Where troubles melt like lemon drops_

 _Away above the chimney tops…_

 _That's where you'll find me"_

Fred knew that this was George's favourite part of the song. Seeing Hermione put in the extra effort for this line made Fred bite his lip.

" _Somewhere_

 _Over the rainbow_

 _Bluebirds fly_

 _If birds fly over the rainbow_

 _Why, oh, why can't I?"_

There was a loud round of sad applause. Hermione bit her lip and thanked everybody.

"Um, also… for the end of this funeral, Fred and I had something special that we wanted to show you. We think… we believe that George would like it."

Fred got out his wand. So did Hermione. And, with reminiscent tears in their eyes, they ended the funeral. With something very special.

Fireworks.

Everywhere.

Rich colours exploding in the night sky: vivid greens, sky blues, sandy yellow, sparkling emerald, bright orange, beautiful indigo; Fred and Hermione had gone all out. The thing about this was that everyone forgot about their sorrow; they looked up in wonder and 'oohed' and 'aahed' and smiled.

That's what George would have wanted.

It was thanks to Hermione.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**

 **So proud of this. Sorry it took me so long to update! I didn't have much motivation. (P.S -reviews motivate me. Just saying; I'd really appreciate feedback! It's so nice to read reviews)**

"'Mione?"

"Mm-hm?"

"Will you go on a date with me?"

"What?"

It was nine months after the funeral. Fred wasn't over George's death. He would never be. George was his twin. He would never be over his death.

But it wasn't ruining his life anymore.

He was closer to Hermione than ever. He went over to her house every night for dinner. He couldn't bare to sit down at the dining table looking over at the empty chair every night in his deserted, silent flat on his own. On his third night alone in his flat after the funeral, Hermione had come to check on him and discovered him crying into his bowl of spaghetti, an empty bottle of beer beside him.

She had cleaned him up in no time and taken him back to her flat. She set up her sofa bed, sat him down with a glass of water, and said solemnly - " _Explain_."

Much to his surprise, he found himself opening up to her. Telling her of his pain, sorrow and sadness. And she listened.

So, now he came round to hers each night, and she cooked him food. Well, she was never much cop at cooking, so she just got that pizza or ribs or pasta that you could just shove in the oven for ten minutes and eat it quickly, and that was yummy enough for both of them. They'd sit on the red sofa and watch a film while eating their dinner, Crookshanks occasionally coming over to see.

Fred was slowly but surely becoming himself again. Joking around, smiling. He even began to take in his surroundings properly and not be so immersed in his thoughts constantly. He loved coming round to Hermione's flat; it was his safe haven. The stairwell up to the third floor was dark, narrow, and gloomy, but when you stepped into Hermione's apartment, you seemed to be in a magical cosy library filled with happiness and books.

The first thing you saw when you stepped into the flat was the small open-plan kitchen and living room. It was tiny, but homely. The walls were painted a deep red, and the floors were white and wooden, and the light hanging from the ceiling had a red lamp shade over it, giving the room a red glow. Indeed, Hermione certainly seemed to have for a rather scarlet theme with this room. Red stools by the white kitchen island; a squashy red sofa and armchair complete with soft white throw pillows; a clock with a ruby-red edge hooked onto the wall.

There was a small brown table with four chairs round it, but Fred and Hermione rarely used it.

The sink, microwave, fridge and oven were all crammed into one corner of the kitchen area, desperately trying to make room for the large bookshelf covering half of the cherry-red wall. It was crammed full to the brim with books spilling onto the kitchen floor - and, it seemed, everywhere else in the flat. Books were strewn all over the floor and around the room. The only place they weren't was the corner where Crookshanks' litter tray and food were, because Crookshanks ripped them to shreds, so Hermione made sure to pick them up from over there. The flat was stubbornly untidy and just fit Hermione perfectly. Fred loved to walk in to the scarlet apartment and see Hermione bustling around in the kitchen, putting dinner in the oven, her crazy hair bushier than ever in a messy ponytail and oversized pyjamas covering her feet and _not_ covering her shoulder.

The rest of her house was just as thoroughly Hermione as the living room. Her bed was a small single bed with blue bedsheets and pillows. A large white bookshelf took up an entire wall on one side, filled with colourful books of all shapes and sizes, and the walls were pearly white. Right above the bed was a light with a blue lampshade, and there was a pretty, coastal painting above the bed on the wall.

A couple of big blue squashy bean bags were spread around, and a little white wooden desk with a blue pen pot and a sapphire-coloured lamp. There was also a big window on one wall. Fred didn't go in Hermione's bedroom often, but he knew he liked it.

The bathroom was a tiny room with off-white walls and a wastepaper bin in the corner. It was dimly lit and not very pretty. Hermione said that she had been on a serious budget when she bought the flat and so she focussed on making the other rooms homely and nice and left the bathroom 'till last.

So that was Fred's refuge, his safe haven that Hermione shared with him. It was his favourite place in the world right now because the Burrow was busy and loud and there were too many people, and WWW brought back painful memories, so Ron was mostly running it recently.

Ron and Hermione had been dating for a few months, not seriously - but they were explicitly in a relationship before they inevitably broke it off in July - on good terms, thank goodness. Fred had always found their relationship sickening and was guiltily glad when they split. Ron had been coming round for dinner most nights as well as Fred, and he didn't seem to understand why Hermione and he were such good friends. Leaving the bathroom, Fred had overheard him speaking in hushed tones to Hermione in the kitchen, thinking Fred couldn't hear.

"Why does he have to come every night? Can't we have some time to ourselves one night?" hissed Ron.

Hermione sighed. "Ron, he practically _lives_ here, you can't kick someone out of their own house. He was here before you were, you shouldn't try to push him away."

"Well, maybe I'm not very happy with my girlfriend living with another guy - one who happens to be my _brother_!"

"Ron, there's nothing _happening_ , you know that. He's just going through difficult times, still. It's okay. We'll have time to ourselves some _other_ time. Don't worry." She reached up and kissed his cheek then went to lay the food (more elaborate than the usual that Hermione and Fred had normally; spaghetti bolognese that was being eaten at the dinner table instead of on the couch) down onto the table.

The two had split up because it just wasn't working. Hermione told Fred about it the night after.

"It just… it just didn't work. I don't know… I'm sad about it, but I can't see it going anywhere. It's like we were stuck on one stage of our relationship; acting on a crush. That was it. Just silly crushes. I don't think they _should_ have been acted on. We squabbled too much, and I feel that it'd just end in flames if we continued. Better to break it off sooner rather than spending years of my life on it."

So now, after six months of laughing together, smiling together, and almost living together with the number of times that Fred would sleep over - they were going to go on a date.

Well.

If Hermione said yes, that is.

Fred had realised that he had this crush on Hermione a while back.

Okay.

A _long_ while back.

Like, August.

Now was March of the next year.

And this crush had grown, and it had grown, and it had _grown_. At first, he had decided to not act on it because of what Hermione had told him about her feelings about relationships that were _inevitably_ going to end, so he denied it. But over time, he realised how much he _really_ liked her, how much it _wasn't_ just a schoolboy crush. And he had really wanted to tell her, truly - but with all the girls that he had admitted his feelings to beforehand… well, he hadn't ever done it without George. Not once. George could always tell when Fred liked a girl. _Always_. And he was always the one to encourage him to ask her out. Something that Fred had only recently noticed into his adult life was that George was his bravery. He had always prided himself on his bravery, being a Gryffindor and all, but he was certain now that he was brave because of George. George _encouraged_ him - and called him a chicken. Fred did all his acts of bravery _for_ George, _or_ to rub it in George's face. The same went for George. Fred had had this epiphany at some point in November and he had just cried. For hours on end. It just made him sad that he never once got to thank George for that. Never. Not once. He couldn't stand it.

He'd cried, and cried, and cried until it was way past six o'clock, the time that he was supposed to be at Hermione's for dinner. Eventually, he had heard a crack outside from the apparition point, and the next thing he knew, Hermione was coming through the door with the spare pair of keys that he'd given her, charging into his bedroom and asking him worriedly if he was okay. Fred remembered her hazy outline in his tear-filled eyes, her concerned words making zero sense to Fred's tired ears, the faint and familiar smell of Hermione's perfume; and all Fred could do was reach up and hug her. He sobbed into her neck. She stood, surprised, for a moment, before gently hugging him back.

That was when _she_ realised that she liked _him._

Though _he_ didn't have a clue.

So, after all that they had gone through together (or rather, what Hermione had helped Fred through), Fred had finally plucked up the courage to ask Hermione on a date. Without George, this was quite a feat. But he had done it. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Well, he had been preparing for it all evening, not concentrating on the movie they were watching (A _Sherlock Holmes_ movie from the 1940s; one of Hermione's favourites), but while Holmes was revealing how they drugged him and Henry Baskerville, Fred had decided not to do it at all. What if she said no? He'd _completely_ ruin their friendship, as well as the fact that he didn't need any more emotional baggage right now, did he?

But then Hermione clapped her hands and exclaimed, "Oh, I love this bit! Isn't it _clever_! Arthur Conan Doyle was a _genius_!"

And Fred looked at her beautiful self, her excited eyes gleaming, her wild hair all around her face - and he said it.

"'Mione?"

"Mm-hmm?" she said, her eyes still glued to the screen.

"Will you go on a date with me?" Fred blurted.

"What?" Hermione looked up swiftly, her eyebrows arching, forgetting the film.

"I- will you?" Fred said desperately. He just wanted her to respond quickly. He had accepted his fate; no more dinners and movies, no more sleepovers with him on the couch and her curled up on the armchair, no more chanting along to their favourite bits in the movies that they knew word-for-word.

No more Hermione.

"Yes."

Fred looked up. Hermione was smiling nervously, a light blush on her cheeks. She had said yes.

Fred could barely contain his excitement.

"Great! I… I have a place I'd like to take you. Tomorrow evening?"

"Sure! Will we have dinner there or will we go after tea?"

"Oh. We'll eat there. D'you think 5 o'clock?"

"Great!" Hermione cleared her throat. "Great. It's um… it's nine o'clock. Are you staying the night?"  
"Uh… no, I'll go home, thanks. I'll see you tomorrow."

Fred got up to leave and was halfway to the door when Hermione leapt up and hugged him.

"Bye," she said into his neck.

Fred hugged her back.

Fred liked hugging her.

Fred had decided on taking Hermione to a special spot near his favourite beach. He had spoken to her about it once, while they were watching _The Little Mermaid_. She had told him that she'd love to see it one day.

Fred arrived at the door and pressed the buzzer. He was wearing a grey shirt with green shorts, knowing that it was a warm spring evening. Going up the stairs, he realised that Hermione was never told the dress code. What if she ended up wearing a fancy tight dress and couldn't go paddling? Oh no, this was going to go wrong.

Fred was relieved to see that she was wearing some casual denim shorts and a white t-shirt with a sakura tree patterned on it. She had moon earrings on and had clearly attempted to tame her hair, but it was still stubbornly wild. Fred thought she looked stunning.

"I wasn't sure what to wear. I didn't know if it was formal or not, so I went for just casual but I can change if you want, but judging from what you're wearing I think I'm okay but I just wanted to check," she gabbled quickly.

"Oh no, it's okay. We're going to the beach I told you about - remember?"

"Oh, wonderful!" Hermione said eagerly. She seemed genuinely pleased with the idea, Fred was relieved to see.

They walked outside to the apparition point. Fred took Hermione's hand to apparate her with him. He was nervous. But he liked holding her hand. It made him smile.

They got to the beach quickly. It was a sandy little cove covered in pebbles. The sea was blue and the sun was shining through the clouds. Hermione gasped happily. "Oh, it's lovely, Fred!"

They set up a little area with a picnic blanket that Fred had brought, along with some food. Instead of eating it immediately, though, they decided to go into the sea before the sun disappeared.

They paddled along the front of the water, contemplating and occasionally making little remarks about the scenery. They were quiet. When it began to grow awkward, Fred decided that more fun needed to be had. So he splashed her.

With a lot of water.

Hermione gasped. " _Fred_!"

And with that, Hermione ran after him around the sea, splashing him with inhumane amounts of water. He splashed her back, laughing, and they yelled and laughed for half an hour before Hermione actually caught Fred and both of them toppled over, laughing. They got up, utterly soaked, and traipsed back to the picnic blanket, giggling.

Walking back, Hermione took his hand.

She liked holding his hand.

Sitting and eating their magnificent picnic on the sunny beach, they talked about many things, most of which made them laugh. They got onto the topic of Christmas.

"Remember Celestina Warbeck? Mum would play it _every_ Christmas," Fred snorted at the memory.

"I've got a cauldron full of hot, strong love, and it's bubbling for you!  
Say incendio, but that spell's not hot, as my special witch's brew!" warbled Hermione, before they both collapsed into laughter.

"Honestly, though," snorted Fred, "that was much better than Celestina. Really, 'Mione, you should sing more."

"What songs?"

"I dunno. What's your favourite?"

" _Wise men say, only fools rush in_

 _But I can't help falling in love with you_

 _Take my hand_

 _Take my whole life, too_

' _Cause I can't help falling in love with you"_

"Hey, I know that song!"

"It was released before we were even born," Hermione smiled, looking down at the sand bashfully. "My mum used to sing it."

"Did you… ever get your parents back?" Fred asked timidly.

"No," Hermione looked up at Fred with a sad smile on her face. "But it's okay. I have you Weasleys. I love my parents. But I'm over it. I can't let that control my life."

Fred looked into Hermione's eyes. She was right. Painfully right.

And then they were kissing.


End file.
